Awkward Is Better Than Heated

December 06, 2017:

While preparing to paint her room, Rachel runs into Alex - who had a recent conversation with his ex.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions: Lorna Marcos Magneto

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Sitting at one of the larger tables, Alex Summers has dumped a good portion of the contents of his backpack out before him. It looks as though the man has packed a science project in lieu of clothing. There's an indistinct pile of wires, cables, and shiny metal bits. For the most part he is ignoring this particular pile. At present, he's holding his t-shirt up with his teeth, revealing the containment suit beneath. The largish round array in the center of his chest has his attention at the moment, as he fiddles at the edge of it with a screwdriver. Sure it's perfectly safe.

Alex mutters something profane around his mouth full of t-shirt and gives the disc a firm whack with the butt of his screwdriver. The indicator lights upon it spring to life and it gives a soft buzz and a (reassuring?) high-pitched whine. Alex freezes, looks momentarily tense, then seems to relax when nothing else happens.


It never fails. It just never fails. The mansion blows up and who's room gets annihilated? HERS. Rachel just had it to the point she -liked- it too. The sound of heavy cans jumbling together can be heard, followed by muffled noises of annoyance. "White. I just wanted white. Not moonlight mist, or Honolulu beaches, or eggshell. I just wanted white. Was that so difficult to process!" The foyer door slams shut, followed by more shuffling, bags crinkling, and finally a bit of silence.

Soon after, a red-head idly pokes her nose into the area Alex is in, catching the fairly tense moment between 'is it going to work', and 'oh thank goodness it does'. Within Rachel's hand is a large shopping bag, and floating neatly behind her are several buckets of paint, some of which clink and clank together occasionally. "I assume I can paint without the mansion getting a second layer of destruction?" Her tone is - amused.


Biting one's t-shirt makes for a rather gruesome grin, but Alex tries it. "Mrmf hurm bff …" yeah, that isn't going to work. "Pfft. Yeah. Er. I think so." He frowns skeptically at the array. Waits a few moments… … nodding, "No. Fine, I'm sure it's fine." He thumbs a button at the corner of the disc, and the indicator lights flicker out. "I probably do need to find a good remote area. Haven't burned off any energy since getting to New York."

Unceremoniously tugging his shirt back down over the contraption, Alex tosses the screwdriver onto the table before him, "Whatcha got against Moonlight Mist, anyway? I've always thought it brings sort of a cooling effect to the room." He has absolutely no idea what Moonlight Mist looks like.


Her own skeptical eyebrow arches upwards as Alex offers the not so reassuring comment about being 'fine'. "Uh-huh." Rachel begins, the slight grin on her features getting even more pronounced. "Suddenly, I just don't feel all that re-assured." With a shake of her head, the cans of paint and bag are placed next to the door, shuffled one on top of each other, and neatly put out of the way.

"I'm not Kitty, so I'm not going to ask if I can help, but if you need a lift anywhere, I'd be happy to provide that." At the question about Moonlight Mist? A distinct scowl forms over Rachel's features, her form spinning about to begin digging through the bag, soon an enormous array of cards are pulled loose, and flopped onto the table with a *whoosh* of noise, and scattering of anything they touch.

The cards are paint colors, many, many, shades of 'white', as Rachel huffs dramatically. "I'll take your word for it." She offers, "The chance of just getting 'white', when there are hundreds of shades of it, left the person at the paint shop laughing hysterically. I ended up with White Flour, I figured that should suffice." A shake of her head, and Rachel's gaze flickers towards Alex. "How's settling in going?" Her eyes scan the items on the table, then back to Alex, curiously.


Eloquently, Alex offers, "Eeeeh…" and wiggles a hand a bit. "Sounds like there's been some business with Genosha and Demon Bears, so I've kind of been staying out of the way 'til I feel like I'm not hopping in front of something more important." The younger Summers waiting for something HE thinks more important to end could potentially make for a pretty long wait.

He leans forward and looks over All The Whites. "Ran into Lorna on her way out to Genosha, actually." So many Whites. "So that was kind of unexpected." He picks up a paint card, then another. He compares briefly, and lets them fall when he fails to tell the difference.

"This is probably where I volunteer for Painting Duty, right?" He gestures toward the telekinetically floating paint cans, "Or is it more fun to just make paintbrushes float around the room?"


"I've found that tends to make a mess, well, more of a mess, it also tends to make splotches." Rachel laments, gaze flickering towards the cans of paint, before turning back to Alex. It would seem she's attempted that trick before, or perhaps several times before. "So any offers of assistance, would be appreciated."

With a set of her shoulders, Rachel's trudging towards the paint and bag full of brushes and accessories. As she collects them upwards, the casual mention of Lorna finally triggers. Her green gems focus upon Alex at that, wondering idly if she should inquire how he's doing, or just let the casual bit drop and move on. Rachel is so not her mom, while she might pick up on things, she doesn't have the compassion or empathy to know what to do. So…

Rachel does her best, which isn't very good. "Huh. Heading off to see her dad. I haven't spoken to Lorna in a bit." She should say something, or maybe she should just keep quiet. Nah. Curiousity wins over. "Did the meeting go… okay?"


"Her dad?" Alex holds the quizzical expression for an extended moment, trying to find the most graceful way to ask, "Is he not … deceased? Uhm, it went all stilted and awkward-y. 'Bout what one would expect, but no drama. Oh. You know this Marcos guy?" He stands from his seat and begins stuffing parts back into his backpack. None of it's remotely dangerous without the power source, but most of it still falls under 'Guard With Your Life' status for the man.

"Well, mess or not, it's a useful talent." Stuff stuff, zip. Alex shoulders his pack, offering a grin, "My thing's only useful as an excuse to relocate to a remote tropical island." He considers for a moment, then adds, "Ideally with some good surfing. Rum drinks, maybe. Hang on, I'm warming up to the idea. Where're we painting a thing?"


"Sorry, I don't know anyone named Marcos, and Magneto - he's alive and well, running Genosha, or something like that." Her nose wrinkles upwards, as Rachel continues to collect up her paint cans, doing so while Alex stuffs the important things into his backpack. "After we left Genosha the first time, Magneto took the opportunity to do his thing."

A wry expression creeps into Rachel's features. "I don't know the full details, just what I've heard or skimmed over debriefings." She hasn't decided if she wants to go to Genosha, really, she feels more like helping those here - versus there. And there is such a long ways away!

"And stilted and awkward sounds better than heated and argumentative." Rachel offers ever so -non-helpfully-.


Alex is wide-eyed for a moment, now trying to come up with something more insightful than 'Magneto? Holy shit holy shit'. It certainly makes sense from an inheritance standpoint. Kind of obvious, really, but still: "I … I was referring to Mr. Dane. Then I was thinking maybe her step-uncle-in-law." That doesn't sound right. "Magneto." Huh. Ok, then.

"Er, anyway. Right? I'm thinking at that point, anything that didn't involve property damage was a win." Giving his chest a quick couple of taps with a knuckle, Alex muses aloud, "Probably wouldn't hurt to get a jumpsuit or overalls or something over this thing. Not sure how much it'd like getting paint in the works."


"Err…" Rachel repeats, pausing to rub the back of her neck, "Sorry, I thought that was common knowledge." Was that something Rachel picked up while scanning minds, reading files, a bit of information she gained from the future or perhaps her time in Genosha? She doesn't have time (or desire) to go digging through her brain right now. "Hopefully it wasn't secret information." The redhead makes a face then, before beginning to head out the door.

"I'm going to go on and get the tarp down and start applying the painter's tape, while you get changed." Rachel trudges on through the door, pauses, thinks perhaps she might say something nice, and kind, like, 'Sorry things went awkward', or 'Do you want to talk about it', or something equally compassionate. Instead, she just offers a very quick, "Thanks again!" And heads on out the door, paint cans floating neatly behind her.

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